Monday, June 23, 2014

Sometimes you reach a point where you just can’t take any more – a breaking point some call it. The day I watched my husband murder the woman who was pregnant with his child, my point didn’t just break, it exploded like a magazine firing through the barrel of a fully-automatic AK-47. Literally. I am no longer his American Princess, nor am I his slave. Now, I’m a murderer in hiding. My name was Bryleigh Carter Oliveira and that was my story.

Translucent is one woman's story of breaking free, starting over, and learning to trust again through willful submission.Jazzy's ReviewWhere do I start with Translucent? I was EXTREMELY lucky to have read this while it was in process. You know what that means? No, not that I automatically love it and give it a gazillion stars-although that is the truth. What it means is that I have had a severe book hangover from Madden for weeks-and could not share my misery with you guys. I literally have not been able to read another book since this! I have a few that I read for reviews but I mean just picking up (ehhh, I should say opening the cloud) a book to read just for fun-yeah, that hasn't happened. As a matter of fact, I am rereading this one. It is that serious my friends. Ok, I should tell you something about the story. I won't give anything away and since a synopsis and excerpt are included in this post you will see what I mean. Blake has had a rough past. She is starting over in a new state, new job, new everything. She meets Madden and BOOM! She never saw him coming and little did she know he is everything she never knew she needed. Can I have Madden please? Nope, he belongs to Toski! lol (See book dedication)#stillhungover#1clickthatbadboy5 stars!Check out the trailer below! I made it! Huge thanks to Erin Noelle for trusting me to do her work justice. And for allowing me to stalk her at the wee hours of the night when freaking out over her work. I. Love. That. Woman.

Picking me up off the bed, Ish threw me over his shoulder and marched out of the hotel room, into the pitch-black night. Scared speechless, I didn’t make a peep as he strode into the small motel office and dropped me on the floor. The male front desk attendant that had rented me the room had eyes as big as saucers, obviously fearful of Ish and the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Did you give her a room to stay in?” he demanded.

The older man nodded, taking a small step backwards.

“Don’t you fucking move, Gramps, and answer me when I ask you a goddamn question.”

“Y-yes, I gave her a room,” he admitted in a cracked voice.

“Did she pay you with money, or did she fuck you for it?”

“She paid me with money, sir. I don’t run that kind of business.” The man looked down at me huddled in a corner on the floor, and then back up at Ish. “She never even offered that kind of thing.”

Ish stomped around to the back of the counter and held his hand out, palm up. “She wants a refund. She’s not staying here tonight.”

Trembling, the man opened the cash register and pulled out some cash, setting it in Ish’s hand. As he did, Ish grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted it behind his back.

“No, you probably didn’t, but she did,” Ish spat, his fiery eyes darting over to me. “Princesa, did you know you were doing something wrong?”

The growing sob that had built in the back of my throat escaped as I nodded and said, “Yes, I did.”

“Well, someone needs to be punished for your bad behavior to remind you not to do something like this again.”

“Punish me, Ish,” I cried. “That poor man has nothing to do with this. Please, let him go.”

He glanced over at the man he held in a tight hold, and then back at me before releasing an evil laugh that echoed loudly throughout the small room. “Sorry, Princesa, but I need you to be pretty for our upcoming wedding.” Then, without warning, he pulled a long-bladed knife from the leg of his pants and chopped the man’s hand clear off in one swing. I’m not sure who screamed louder, me or the man, but within seconds, it was only my high-pitched voice shrieking, because Ish took the knife and slit the man’s throat, killing him instantaneously. Dropping the bloody body, he stalked towards me, bent down to my level, and clamped his hand on top of my mouth.

“Quiet now, Bryleigh, before you alert anyone else and I do the same thing to them. You don’t want to be the reason anyone else dies tonight, do you?” he whispered in my ear.

Immediately, I stop screaming, knowing damn well he would do exactly what he promised. “Now, that’s my good Princesa,” he said, stroking my hair. “We should get out of here. I’m going to carry you to the car, and I expect you to be well-behaved.”

Lifting me from the dirty tile floor, he carried me like a baby out to his car and placed me on the passenger seat. Petrified of what was going to happen next, I sat as still as a statue as he got into the car and drove north, back towards Chicago. He said nothing the entire drive home, but once we were both inside the apartment, he threw me on the bed and stripped me naked. Turning me over so that I was face-down on the mattress, he yanked forcefully on my hips, raising them in the air. He held tightly onto my hipbones as he viciously thrust himself into my virgin ass—no warning…no lube…nothing. I shouted out at the intense pain, and tears immediately began to stream down my face, but he didn’t stop thrusting until he was buried completely inside of me.

Leaning over, with his chest pressed to my back, he said in low, spine-chilling voice, “Anytime you fuck up, Princesa, someone will pay the price, and I will make you watch as I administer the punishment. You need to see the consequences of your actions, so don’t fuck up again if you don’t want any more blood on your conscience.”

He then fiercely fucked me until he came deep inside my asshole. He pulled out, not saying another word, then showered and left. I cried until I couldn’t see, and passed out with exhaustion.

That was the only time I ever tried to run away, but sadly, not the only bloodstains on my hands. It was only the beginning.

Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History at the University of Houston, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels. In 2013, she published the Book Boyfriend Series, which included books Metamorphosis, Ambrosia, Euphoria, and Timeless, and recently published When the Sun Goes Down, a contemporary romance novel. Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list and the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100.

Friday, June 13, 2014

This book was recommended to me by an author I love and respect, A.D. Justice. So, naturally I was really excited to read this book. I was hooked right away. I felt like I was having a conversation with the characters as I was reading. Like they were telling me their story over coffee. Let's talk about Nate. His muse is Jessie Pavleka. How can you go wrong with that!!!! He has some extremely endearing qualities. His love, devotion and protection over his brother and over what is unjust is admirable. His tactics however, not so much. Elizabeth! Oh, Elizabeth! My heart broke for this poor girl. I was SOOOOO mad at Audrey. I swear, Elizabeth is a saint. She handles her sister so well. I really just wanted to punch her at times-well, most of the time. And I am not a violent person at all!#1clickthatbadboy 5 Stars! *****Ok, favorite quotes shall we?

This is a love story through and through.

To hear Nick tell it, Miss Elizabeth walks on water.

"Libby, you'd be sexy in a brown paper sack. I'm going to take that image to bed with me."

"...what you'd think about taking this to the next level and calling this an official relationship? Like, you'd be my girlfriend? Don't answer right now. Just think about it. Or you can answer now. Unless it's no, then don't answer. Wow, this relationship stuff sucks." (HILARIOUS!)

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

What to say about Pretty Instinct? Really, my unedited thoughts are simple: This book needs to be the man manual. What I mean is each man in the entire world should read this book so he can learn how to be a better partner. It does not matter if the partner is a man or a woman. Actually, scratch that. Instead of being the man manual, it should be the relationship manual. Quite simply, Cannon Blackwell is a dream come true. We can all learn a thing or two from him. I love this book-and not just because my name may or may not be mentioned in these beautiful pages. In the real world as Lizzy says so eloquently: "Love is not patient, love is not always kind, Love does envy and boast." Even though she is saying what love isn't she is saying exactly what it is. Be warned: THIS IS AN UGLY CRY! I mean Nicholas Sparks ugly. Such a beautiful story! I would not change a dang thing! Love my shorty mama a.k.a. S.E. Hall!

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm giving this book 5 Stars!

“If opposites attract, then I am nothing. Because you, you are everything.”

There’s no easy road traveled to such an intense sentiment, one I never dreamt I’d feel….

But I also never planned on Cannon Blackwell climbing aboard my tour bus.

S.E.Hall resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 4 beautiful daughters. When not in the stands watching her ladies play softball, she enjoys reading and writing. She's also being clutch at Baggo, when it's warm outside!

“I can’t let a stranger on the bus with Bubs. What if he’s a mass murderer?” What if he’s not as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside?

“Ah, Mama Bear, run him through all the tests. You’re careful. And he might say we’re crazy and tell us to fuck off. Let’s ask before we worry about it.”

Biding my time, I chew on the inside of my cheek and look back, confirming Conner’s still tossing the Frisbee happily, Rhett watching him. “You asking or am I?” I sigh, hopefully masking the foreign tingle of anticipation working its way up my battered spine.

“He’s hetero, I can tell from here. I say we send in,” he flicks a finger back and forth between my boobs, “the big guns.”

“Enough.” I slap my hand over his mouth hastily. “I’ll go, but you stay right here and watch, closely. He makes a move for a weapon, dial 911 as you run to rescue me.”

“On it.” He grins at me, full of victory, a hint of his earlier teasing still lingering in his expression.

Girding my loins, I think, do women have loins and can they be girded or is that only a guy thing? Summoning my courage, I move with slow, hesitant steps in the miraculous unknown’s direction, reminding myself with each one that it’s for the boys, the band, the overall goal of staying the hell out of Sutton. And it is, but I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit I wouldn’t be this anxious if I was walking up to an ugly man. Or even a kinda good-looking man. Shallow much, Liz? Nah, I have no control over biological response.

Almost there now, his head lifts and turns at my approach, connecting eyes as sable brown as thick molasses to my own. He was tummy-turning enough far away. Up close, he’s better than photoshopped, a clear-cut case for Guinness Genetics. His lips are full, much plumper than my own, and he has a strong nose and jawline, both very masculine, the latter covered in a dark scruff. His hair is the same rich chestnut as his eyes, not too short, but definitely not too long. “Just fucked” hair (isn’t that what they call it?) be damned. He’s got “just fucked her and she had to hold on” locks, unruly in the most intricate fashion. The black boots at the end of long, thick legs are scuffed, faded jeans worn, well, and the long sleeved black thermal he’s wearing? Oh, he wears it, or rather, every muscle in his torso holds it up flawlessly.

Bottom line—he’s easy to look at.

“Are you a deranged serial killer and/or rapist?”

I like to open subtly.

“No, are you?” His timbre is deep and gravely, sending my vagina subliminal messages. Something along the lines of “yup, you want it.” With a voice like that, I’m praying he isn’t a chain smoker. To fuzz this perfect picture with the stench of an ever-present cloud of smoke would be one helluva slap in the face of the Almighty creator.

“No,” I answer too defensively, this instant, highly unusual attraction frying my staple “too cool to care” attitude that, up until right now, I’d like to think I pull off fabulously. “You any good?” I lean and point to the instrument on his back, brows bowed in questioning antagonism.

“Define good,” he deadpans, head down as he pulls the guitar off his back and puts it back in its case.

“Hendrix.”

“Not left-handed.” He shrugs as he straightens back up and captures my gaze.

“Page.”

He laughs, treating me to one seriously enlightening sound, accompanied by the sexiest blindingly white smile. “Then no, not even close to good.”

Damn, I should’ve gone with a mediocre guitarist! Now I’ve backed myself into a corner, Stranger Danger not giving me anything in the form of segue. Struggling, I shove my hands in my back pockets and rock nervously back and forth on my heels, forced to come up with another revealing yet seemingly aloof question.

“Why do you ask?” he rescues me.

“Our band.” I toss my head back toward the bus. “We need a bassist. And since you’re hitchhiking, I thought maybe—”

He drops down from his perch on the top edge of the bench and stands, well over six feet of sinister sex appeal stretching out before my eager eyes. “Do you know what a hitchhiker is?”

“What?” I shake my head to clear it and take a step back. “Yes, of course.”

“You sure about that?” He eats up the steps I’d retreated, placing his body close enough to mine that I can literally feel the battle of push and pull between us. “‘Cause where I come from, hitchhikers stand at the road, where you can see them. It increases their chances of actually landing a ride.” His left eyebrow curves up at one end and that same eye, I swear it, twinkles at me. “Seeing as how I’m sitting at the back of a desolate rest stop, I’m either the worst hitchhiker in history,” another step closer, “or you’re labeling me with the wrong tag.”

I check my phone for the tenth time. It’s almost 2 am, surely they’re asleep and I can sneak to my own bed. Sleeping with Conner isn’t as fun as you might think, unless you think being caged with a wild animal sounds like a party.

As quietly as possible, I slink out of the bed and through his door, pulling it closed; halfway there. Sending up a silent prayer I don’t meet any open, awake eyes, I turn, relieved at the lack of spectators, and scurry to my bed. After sharing my song tonight, I need some time to pass before I look them in the eyes—those lyrics, the tremor in my voice as I sang—I’m not ready for questions or commentary.

“Pssst.”

Of course I didn’t pull off the covert bed switch undetected. This bus—40 x 8 feet—might as well be a shoebox. I draw back the curtain, squinting my eyes against the dimness.

“Hey,” Cannon greets me with a whisper and grin from his bed, curtain also pulled open.

Giving him back the smile I can’t contain, I finger wave. Has he been waiting up for me? Was I secretly hoping he’d still be awake? Do I want to know either answer or what it says about me? What planet am I living on that this is now an issue?

“Here.” He scoots to the edge of his bunk and hands across…an earbud? Eyeing him curiously, I turn on my side, facing his way, and put it in my ear. “Shhh.” He puts a finger over his lips then winks and slips the other bud in his own ear, only breaking eye contact for a split second to tap the phone screen, then reconnecting in the muted light.

“Hello, Lizzie,” his voice sounds in my ear and as my eyes pop in surprise. He once again does the “shhh” thing, nodding to me to just listen. “I thought about playing you ‘You Are So Beautiful,’ but surely you already know that. This, you may not.”

There’s a brief pause, then music starts… It’s “Have a Little Faith in Me.”

I know I whimper aloud, but I force my eyes to stay on his no matter how badly I want to hide them and the building tears. Through the entire song, I stare and he stares back, mouthing the words every once in a while. With the closing notes, his voice returns.

“Not too corny, I hope. Just…think about it. Sweet dreams, Lizzie.”

Apparently picking up on the fact I’ve been rendered incapable of functioning, he reaches over and gently removes the earbud, taps the end of my nose with his fingertip, then closes my curtain for me.

Monday, June 2, 2014

What to say about Pretty Instinct? Really, my unedited thoughts are simple: This book needs to be the man manual. What I mean is each man in the entire world should read this book so he can learn how to be a better partner. It does not matter if the partner is a man or a woman. Actually, scratch that. Instead of being the man manual, it should be the relationship manual. Quite simply, Cannon Blackwell is a dream come true. We can all learn a thing or two from him. I love this book-and not just because my name may or may not be mentioned in these beautiful pages. In the real world as Lizzy says so eloquently: "Love is not patient, love is not always kind, Love does envy and boast." Even though she is saying what love isn't she is saying exactly what it is. Be warned: THIS IS AN UGLY CRY! I mean Nicholas Sparks ugly. Such a beautiful story! I would not change a dang thing! Love my shorty mama a.k.a. S.E. Hall!

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm giving this book 5 Stars!

“If opposites attract, then I am nothing. Because you, you are everything.”

There’s no easy road traveled to such an intense sentiment, one I never dreamt I’d feel….

But I also never planned on Cannon Blackwell climbing aboard my tour bus.

S.E.Hall resides in Arkansas with her husband of 18 years and 4 beautiful daughters. When not in the stands watching her ladies play softball, she enjoys reading and writing. She's also being clutch at Baggo, when it's warm outside!

“I can’t let a stranger on the bus with Bubs. What if he’s a mass murderer?” What if he’s not as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside?

“Ah, Mama Bear, run him through all the tests. You’re careful. And he might say we’re crazy and tell us to fuck off. Let’s ask before we worry about it.”

Biding my time, I chew on the inside of my cheek and look back, confirming Conner’s still tossing the Frisbee happily, Rhett watching him. “You asking or am I?” I sigh, hopefully masking the foreign tingle of anticipation working its way up my battered spine.

“He’s hetero, I can tell from here. I say we send in,” he flicks a finger back and forth between my boobs, “the big guns.”

“Enough.” I slap my hand over his mouth hastily. “I’ll go, but you stay right here and watch, closely. He makes a move for a weapon, dial 911 as you run to rescue me.”

“On it.” He grins at me, full of victory, a hint of his earlier teasing still lingering in his expression.

Girding my loins, I think, do women have loins and can they be girded or is that only a guy thing? Summoning my courage, I move with slow, hesitant steps in the miraculous unknown’s direction, reminding myself with each one that it’s for the boys, the band, the overall goal of staying the hell out of Sutton. And it is, but I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit I wouldn’t be this anxious if I was walking up to an ugly man. Or even a kinda good-looking man. Shallow much, Liz? Nah, I have no control over biological response.

Almost there now, his head lifts and turns at my approach, connecting eyes as sable brown as thick molasses to my own. He was tummy-turning enough far away. Up close, he’s better than photoshopped, a clear-cut case for Guinness Genetics. His lips are full, much plumper than my own, and he has a strong nose and jawline, both very masculine, the latter covered in a dark scruff. His hair is the same rich chestnut as his eyes, not too short, but definitely not too long. “Just fucked” hair (isn’t that what they call it?) be damned. He’s got “just fucked her and she had to hold on” locks, unruly in the most intricate fashion. The black boots at the end of long, thick legs are scuffed, faded jeans worn, well, and the long sleeved black thermal he’s wearing? Oh, he wears it, or rather, every muscle in his torso holds it up flawlessly.

Bottom line—he’s easy to look at.

“Are you a deranged serial killer and/or rapist?”

I like to open subtly.

“No, are you?” His timbre is deep and gravely, sending my vagina subliminal messages. Something along the lines of “yup, you want it.” With a voice like that, I’m praying he isn’t a chain smoker. To fuzz this perfect picture with the stench of an ever-present cloud of smoke would be one helluva slap in the face of the Almighty creator.

“No,” I answer too defensively, this instant, highly unusual attraction frying my staple “too cool to care” attitude that, up until right now, I’d like to think I pull off fabulously. “You any good?” I lean and point to the instrument on his back, brows bowed in questioning antagonism.

“Define good,” he deadpans, head down as he pulls the guitar off his back and puts it back in its case.

“Hendrix.”

“Not left-handed.” He shrugs as he straightens back up and captures my gaze.

“Page.”

He laughs, treating me to one seriously enlightening sound, accompanied by the sexiest blindingly white smile. “Then no, not even close to good.”

Damn, I should’ve gone with a mediocre guitarist! Now I’ve backed myself into a corner, Stranger Danger not giving me anything in the form of segue. Struggling, I shove my hands in my back pockets and rock nervously back and forth on my heels, forced to come up with another revealing yet seemingly aloof question.

“Why do you ask?” he rescues me.

“Our band.” I toss my head back toward the bus. “We need a bassist. And since you’re hitchhiking, I thought maybe—”

He drops down from his perch on the top edge of the bench and stands, well over six feet of sinister sex appeal stretching out before my eager eyes. “Do you know what a hitchhiker is?”

“What?” I shake my head to clear it and take a step back. “Yes, of course.”

“You sure about that?” He eats up the steps I’d retreated, placing his body close enough to mine that I can literally feel the battle of push and pull between us. “‘Cause where I come from, hitchhikers stand at the road, where you can see them. It increases their chances of actually landing a ride.” His left eyebrow curves up at one end and that same eye, I swear it, twinkles at me. “Seeing as how I’m sitting at the back of a desolate rest stop, I’m either the worst hitchhiker in history,” another step closer, “or you’re labeling me with the wrong tag.”

I check my phone for the tenth time. It’s almost 2 am, surely they’re asleep and I can sneak to my own bed. Sleeping with Conner isn’t as fun as you might think, unless you think being caged with a wild animal sounds like a party.

As quietly as possible, I slink out of the bed and through his door, pulling it closed; halfway there. Sending up a silent prayer I don’t meet any open, awake eyes, I turn, relieved at the lack of spectators, and scurry to my bed. After sharing my song tonight, I need some time to pass before I look them in the eyes—those lyrics, the tremor in my voice as I sang—I’m not ready for questions or commentary.

“Pssst.”

Of course I didn’t pull off the covert bed switch undetected. This bus—40 x 8 feet—might as well be a shoebox. I draw back the curtain, squinting my eyes against the dimness.

“Hey,” Cannon greets me with a whisper and grin from his bed, curtain also pulled open.

Giving him back the smile I can’t contain, I finger wave. Has he been waiting up for me? Was I secretly hoping he’d still be awake? Do I want to know either answer or what it says about me? What planet am I living on that this is now an issue?

“Here.” He scoots to the edge of his bunk and hands across…an earbud? Eyeing him curiously, I turn on my side, facing his way, and put it in my ear. “Shhh.” He puts a finger over his lips then winks and slips the other bud in his own ear, only breaking eye contact for a split second to tap the phone screen, then reconnecting in the muted light.

“Hello, Lizzie,” his voice sounds in my ear and as my eyes pop in surprise. He once again does the “shhh” thing, nodding to me to just listen. “I thought about playing you ‘You Are So Beautiful,’ but surely you already know that. This, you may not.”

There’s a brief pause, then music starts… It’s “Have a Little Faith in Me.”

I know I whimper aloud, but I force my eyes to stay on his no matter how badly I want to hide them and the building tears. Through the entire song, I stare and he stares back, mouthing the words every once in a while. With the closing notes, his voice returns.

“Not too corny, I hope. Just…think about it. Sweet dreams, Lizzie.”

Apparently picking up on the fact I’ve been rendered incapable of functioning, he reaches over and gently removes the earbud, taps the end of my nose with his fingertip, then closes my curtain for me.

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Hi! If you'd like to know whats going on in this big brain of mine I will share it here. Sometimes it will some jibberish about a book I'm reading. :) Others about random things that I'm thinking about!